


The Wolves Are Asleep in Their Den Now

by devils_trap



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sterek at the end most definitely but mostly friendship?, pre s2 finale and all that jazz, sure let's go with that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 08:22:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devils_trap/pseuds/devils_trap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re at Derek’s secret headquarters. Where he just gave Derek a book. Where he just gave Derek a book called Go the Fuck to Sleep. A book for children.</p><p>Well that was twenty bucks wasted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wolves Are Asleep in Their Den Now

He’d heard about it online and idly mused about Derek reading it to his pack of mangy mutts, and that, wow, that mental image had him howling for hours. Derek with a pair of thin reading glasses perched on the end of his stupidly attractive nose, with the book angled towards the werewolves on the floor, gathered around him. Erica curled around Isaac, the girl looking up dreamily at her alpha, the boy lulling to sleep. Boyd raptly paying attention to every word. Scott looking slightly constipated in the corner.

He never actually thought about buying it, per say, until he was wandering around Barnes and Noble one evening, a copy of  _Hamlet_ and one of the A _ssassin’s Creed_  companion novels tucked under his arm. The former was for English class and Stiles really looked forward to not reading it and looking at SparkNotes at the very last minute, and the latter, well, the latter was bad ass because who didn’t want to read more about Ezio being a fucking boss?

Scott had ditched him to hang out with Allison, his dad was out working a security job at some abandoned store a city over, Jackson was probably at Petsmart or something communing with the bearded dragons and snakes, Lydia was plotting to take over the world, Derek and his wolves were probably furthering their mastery of the go fuck yourself eyes and sowing matching patches on their leather jackets (Stiles swears that in an alternate universe, they’re the worst biker gang ever), and Stiles—Stiles was bored and had a few extra bills in his wallet, and the book was practically  _screaming_  at him to pick it up so what the hell.

He made his way to the check-out line and smiled politely through the cashier’s distasteful grimace at his purchase. It would be worth it.

Instead of going straight home, he stopped by Derek’s hide-out. Curiosity may have killed the cat but boredom didn’t leave it any better off, and he was eager to show off what he had bought. Wrapping it came to mind as he clanged his way down the steps and into the abandoned warehouse. Maybe a nice, big black bow with white dog bones on it. Maybe with a bag of dog treats, too. Did werewolves like dog treats? Would they like them more when they were wolfed out?

Stiles is mulling over the difference between meaty and fruity dog treats when he runs into a wall. A solid, warm wall that smells like earth and leather and dark spices and is breathing heavily against the top of his head, with fists clenched and mouth screwed in a bitter pucker.

“Stiles,” Derek breathes, unclenching one of his fists to steady the flailing teenager. “What do you want?”

“Jeez, I can’t just come over and say hello? Rude,” Stiles huffed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He tightens his grip on his bag of books. Maybe he should have wrapped the book. It would’ve given Stiles a few seconds head start to flee in case it wasn’t well received. Stiles thought it was thoughtful and apt but who knew how Derek would take it? He was usually just a little more constipated looking than Scott. “I, uh. I come bearing gifts!”

“Did you bring food?” Someone calls from an empty car. A head pops out an empty frame and Boyd blinks at Stiles for a few seconds. He breathes deeply and it sounds wet and mildly disgusting, like he’s breathing through snot or something else grotesque. Do werewolves get sick? Boyd sighs loudly before pulling his head back in. “No food, guys, false alarm.” If Stiles strains, he can hear Isaac and Erica groaning in unison.

“That was creepy.” Stiles blinks. The strap of the plastic bag in his hands is cutting into his palm.

“Did you need something or are you just here to bug me?” Derek rubs a large hand over his face. The sound of his roughened palms against his permanent five o’clock shadow is audible and delicious in its scratchiness and woah, woah woah Stiles, calm down. He looks tired, like he hasn’t slept in days, his hair is a greasy, sweaty mess and there are smudges of gray beneath his eyes. Come to think of it, he looks like shit. He looks more like a drenched wereraccoon than a scary, sexy werewolf.

“You look like shit, y’know.”

“Stiles.”

“Please don’t eat me. I have something for you!” Now or never, Stilinski. He pulls out the novel, only getting the corners of it caught in the plastic twice, and holds it out to Derek with a smile on his face that he hopes reads  _god please don’t eat me, I’m the only comic relief this show has be compassionate please_.

“Stiles.”

“Pretty good, eh?”

“Stiles.”

“I just picked it up from—”

“Stiles.”

“Oh okay, yeah next time I’m going to wrap the gifts—”

“ _Stiles._ ” Derek’s voice is loud and raspy and Stiles spooks, dropping his other books. Doesn’t quite remember when Derek got so close to him. Wasn’t he standing a few feet away a second ago? And can shit look attractive because even slightly sweaty and diseased looking, Derek looks attractive as hell. Stiles windmills his arms and flails to try to derail his thoughts. “Really?” He asks, one eyebrow masterfully raised.

Stiles opens his mouth to say something hilarious, his hand lifted and index finger pointed and everything, but nothing comes out. So he settles for nodding, turning around and running back to his Jeep as fast as he can.

It’s not until he’s already back at his house, loudly fixing something to eat to fill the silence, that he realizes that he doesn’t have his books. He checks his Jeep first, rummaging around through empty soda bottles and discarded homework assignments, until he realizes. They’re at Derek’s secret headquarters. Where he just gave Derek a book. Where he just gave Derek a book called  _Go the Fuck to Sleep_. A book for children.

Well that was twenty bucks wasted. Stiles sighs and pulls out his phone. He texts Scott ‘ _When you surgically unattach yourself from Hawkeye can you get my shit out of Dereks hq?? Too soon for me to go back might get eaten_ ’ and is putting his phone back when it buzzes in his hand. He figures it’s from Scott—people always used to call them Brain Twins (which was somewhat insulting for Stiles but semantics and all that jazz) because they oftentimes did things, even when apart, at the same time—but the name that flashes up on the message decidedly isn’t Scott.

While he stares at the name and wills it to morph into anything else, the phone vibrates several more times.

> **Buttface >:|** You left your books here.  
>  **Buttface >:|** Come get them unless you want them shredded.   
>  **Buttface >:| **Now.  
>  **Buttface >:|** Boyd says bring food.   
>  **Buttface >:|** Bring soup.  
>  **Buttface >:|** And cold medicine. The liquid kind, not those shitty pills.

Stiles hits his head against the side of his Jeep, softly apologies to the car, and wonders when this became his life.

Three cans of doctored chicken noodle a la Stilinski later finds Stiles carefully making his way down the steps and back into the pack’s hideout. There are five tupperware dishes of chicken noodle soup stacked precariously on top of each other with an economy sized bottle of NyQuil serving as the tree topper of sorts, and Stiles would really rather not, y’know, get third degree burns because he was a klutz and dropped scalding soup all over himself. He opens his mouth to ask for help when Boyd comes barreling out of a train car, a crumpled tissue stuck up his right nostril. He’s almost foaming at the mouth, tripping over his own tongue to thank Stiles for the food. He takes three of them, their respective spoons and the NyQuil from Stiles’s hands and heads back to the train car. 

He turns around at the door and eyes Stiles. “C’mon, Derek’s gonna read that book you got us. He hasn’t stopped flipping through it and snorting since you left.”

Stiles nervously follows Boyd into the train car, careful not to step on Isaac or Erica, who are sprawled out on a nest of blankets in front of Derek, each quickly throwing back several mouthfuls of NyQuil before passing it to the next person. They all look like shit. Like we just got shot with wolfsbane bullets sans the black veins, shit.

“Don’t worry, you can’t catch this from us,” Derek mumbles, finishing off the rest of the bottle. “We don’t catch the common cold, but we do get some nasty bugs. Perks of being a werewolf.” Derek is seated on a slightly destroyed bench with the book in his lap. He smirks at Stiles and holds out his hand.

Stiles climbs over the werewolves now mauling their meal and sits down on a bench near Derek. He hands a spoon and a tupperware of soup to Derek. The three on the floor at least used their spoons but Derek just removes the lid and drinks straight from the bowl. His throat contours to the large mouthfuls and Stiles watches, mystified and envious and slightly disgusted as Derek kills the entire steaming bowl.

Stiles is blinking down into his own tupperware of soup when Derek clears his throat and holds up the book. He’s got a smirk on his face as he reads, “ _Go the Fuck to Sleep_ , by Adam Mansbach.” Isaac snorts into his soup.

> _“The cats nestle close to their kittens now. The lambs have laid down with the sheep. You’re cozy and warm in your bed, my dear. Please go the fuck to sleep._
> 
> _“The windows are dark in the town, child. The whales bubble down in the deep. I’ll read you one very last book if you swear you’ll go the fuck to sleep."_

Erica chortles into her elbow and pillow as she tugs blankets, and Isaac, around her. Boyd quietly burps and sets his tupperware on an unoccupied bench before joining the puppy pile. Isaac makes a contented sound, and Derek’s smirk grows a fond edge.

Stiles doesn’t know what he’s feeling. He unconsciously makes a small, giddy sound, his body warm from the soup and from the way the pack looks, not clad in leather and angry and hitting him with pieces of his own Jeep. They’re all sick and cuddled together like an actual pack of wolves, getting comfort from each other’s body heat and the sound of their Alpha’s voice. He feels like he’s witnessing something he shouldn’t, like he knows Clark Kent is Superman and has to spend his days trying hard not to tell the world that.

> _“The eagles who soar through the sky are at rest, and the creatures who crawl, run, and creep. I know you’re not thirsty, that’s bullshit, stop lying. Lie the fuck down, my darling, and sleep._
> 
> _“The wind whispers softly through the grass, hon. The field mice, they make not a peep. It’s been thirty-eight minutes already. Jesus christ, what the fuck? Go to sleep._
> 
> _“All the kids from daycare are in dreamland. The froggie has made his last leap. Hell no, you can’t go to the bathroom. Y’know where you can go? The fuck to sleep.”_

Isaac laughs into Erica’s shoulder, and suddenly the entire train car is full of laughter. Stiles has tears in his eyes he’s laughing so hard, and the fondness in Derek’s eyes that he usually keeps hidden is full and glowing. When it settles down, with the occasional hiccup of a laugh from Erica, Derek flips the page and continues reading.

> _“The owls fly forth from the treetops. Through the air, they soar and they sweep. A hot crimson rage fills my heart, love. For real, shut the fuck up and sleep._
> 
> _“The cubs and lions are snoring, wrapped in a big snuggly heap. How is it you can do all this other great shit, but you can’t lie the fuck down and sleep?_
> 
> _“The seeds slumber beneath the earth now, and the crops that the farmers will reap. No more questions. The interview’s over. I’ve got two words for you, kid: fucking sleep.”_

The laughter is constant now, but it’s quiet and soft and sounds like it’s from small children rather than teenage werewolves. The NyQuil and soup seem to be doing their jobs, at least to the three on the floor. They’re awake, but not for long.

> _“The tiger reclines in the simmering jungle. The sparrow has silenced her cheep. Fuck your stuff bear, I'm not getting you shit. Close your eyes. Cut the crap. Sleep._
> 
> _“The flowers doze low in the meadows, and high on the mountains so steep. My life is a failure, I’m a shitty-ass parent. Stop fucking with me, please, and sleep._
> 
> _“The giant penguins of madagascar are snoozing as I lie here and openly weep. Sure, fine, whatever. I’ll bring you some milk. Who the fuck cares? You’re not gonna sleep.”_

Derek is good at this, even sick. He controls his voice well, raising and lowering it as the story dictates. Stiles didn’t know his voice could do anything other than that scary, I smoke a pack a day gravely thing he does, but he’s pleasantly surprised at how well the words flow from Derek’s mouth. The pack on the floor is on its last leg. Erica may or may not already be out. Boyd’s fighting it the most, his eyes drifting closed every few minutes only to snap back open. 

Stiles finds himself tired as well and huffs softly under his breath.

> _“This room is all I can remember, the furniture crappy and cheap. You win. You escape. You run down the hall. As I nod the fuck off, and sleep._
> 
> _“Bleary and dazed I awaken to find your eyes shut, so I keep my fingers crossed tight as I tiptoe away and pray that you’re fucking asleep._
> 
> _“We’re finally watching our movie. Popcorn’s in the microwave. Beep. Oh shit. Goddamn it. You’ve gotta be kidding. Come on, go the fuck back to sleep.”_

Stiles wakes up to Derek yawning loudly and stretching his arms high over his head. There are loud snores coming from the mess of sheets and blonde hair on the floor. Derek has this smile on his face that makes Stiles weak in the knees, it’s soft and private and unburdened by the guilt Derek carries around like a modern day Atlas.

“Uh…thanks for…didn’t know we needed that,” Derek whispers as he rises to his feet.

The teen doesn’t actively know what to say back for once, so he simply nods and gets his things together. Derek collects the used tupperware dishes and quietly leads the way back to the stairs. They stand there awkwardly for a few moments. Derek hands over the tupperware and Stiles situates them all in his grip.

“My books?” Stiles says quietly.

“Oh yeah, yeah.” Derek scurries away and comes back a few seconds later yawning into the back of his arm, the Barnes and Noble bag in his free hand. “It’s getting pretty late,” he says as he hands Stiles the bag. Stiles nods in reply. “Why don’t you, uh, go home and go the fuck to sleep?”

Stiles snorts loudly. “Goodnight, Derek.” As he turns to ascend the stairs, Derek grabs his wrist and gingerly pulls him back. “Derek—?” Derek’s lips are feverish and chapped against his own. The hand around his wrist is slightly clammy and warm.

“Go the fuck to sleep,” Derek whispers with a smile, and listens to Stiles’s heart beat a quick, steady rhythm as the teen nods and returns to his Jeep.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my [Tumblr](http://devils-trap.tumblr.com/post/28849125742/devils-trap-can-we-all-take-a-second-to-imagine).


End file.
